


Your Saving Grace, The Herald's Rest

by ofhousepavus



Series: Raise Thy Shield of Faith [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Humor, M/M, POV Second Person, Team Bonding, honestly? im just so tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofhousepavus/pseuds/ofhousepavus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dorian wheezes, wrapping his arms around you once again, tightening his grip when you try to squirm away. ‘Amatus, you should…you should see your face.’ He turns to Cullen gleefully. ‘You should see</i> your <i>face.’</i></p><p>The Inquisitor accidentally calls Commander Cullen 'father'.<br/>Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Saving Grace, The Herald's Rest

**Author's Note:**

> The first installment to a series that will eventually be Male Inquistor/Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford. Please kill me, I have so many assignments to do, everyone's OOC, and it's two in the morning.

It all starts when you’re first invited to drinks at Herald’s Rest. You go willingly enough, though you do little more than sit politely in the company of Blackwall and Varric with a glass of water. Your excuse is work – the reality is you’ve never touched a drop alcohol in your life.

Not that there’s any real reason for it. You don’t even know if you’re going to like it or not. You’ve always figured that it was strange for your age and standing, but of all the vices you’ve allowed yourself, drinking just hasn’t been one of them. The two men are happy enough to leave you alone though, regaling you instead with tales from before The Breach.

The second time, it’s the Chargers that tell you to sit and join them for a round. The Chargers are insistent when you tell the waitress you’re not having anything. So with several degrees of embarrassment, you reveal the truth.

‘It isn’t like I’ve sworn off it,’ you say. Even if your parents hadn’t already decided your future as a Templar, you still think you wouldn’t care much for drinking. ‘I just…never thought it mattered.’

Bull is sceptical, Krem amused but quiet. Then, without further delay (or a warning, for that matter), they take it upon themselves to teach you the delights of Fereldan beer and its consequences when consumed in overwhelming amounts by a veritable lightweight. Even with all your bulk, your impressive physique does little to slow the effects. It isn’t long till you find yourself sprawled out in Sera’s quarters with a crudely drawn penis on your face. So much for appearances.

You secret, however, is safe. The Chargers pretend they don’t remember their boss hoisting the Inquisitor over his shoulder so he could find a cosy place to dump you. Sera thinks the Inquisitor spending the night in her room is scandalous enough. The rumours would spread by themselves – much to her delight. You spend about three days trying to convince the majority of your inner circle, as well as a few curious tavern patrons, and a whole lot of nobles, that Sera’s interest in you is as real as your sexual attraction to women. In more subtle terms, of course.

But if you’re truly honest, you had fun. Even if you did end up using a good minute to puke into a bucket graciously provided by the blonde elf. After being guilt-tripped for her work of art on your face. It had been a good experience, if anything.

Still, you keep your drinks to a minimum thereafter. A hungover Inquisitor can only do so much good – you know there’s no way you’re going to be able to hold your alcohol as well as the others in such a short amount of time.

So when Dorian finds you in your quarters and declares that you both deserved a break from the books and the paperwork, you’re a little reluctant.

‘You’re starting to smell, Lord Trevelyan.’ Dorian informs you kindly when you voice your reservations. ‘And your eyes are bloodshot. Soon, you’re going to look more terrifying than Corypheus himself.’ He pauses. ‘Maybe we can use that to our advantage.’

‘You have such a way with words.’

‘I know – aren’t I delightful?’

You crack a smile. ‘That you are.’ You push your chair back and stand to your feet, pretending that you don’t black out for a second. When the world gains its colour again, you take Dorian’s proffered arm and say, ‘Lead the way.’

-

Herald’s Rest is mostly empty when you enter, save for the members of the inner circle. But the atmosphere is warm, and there are still four or five soldiers milling about on the first floor. Maryden is there, of course, and her voice is like honey, the murmur of the patrons upstairs a dream. Everything is wood and yellow light, the scent of roasted nuts and spices lingering in the air.

Leliana (her presence is a pleasant surprise) and Cole separate to make room for you and Dorian. Solas greets you amiably, Vivienne reminds everyone that she’s _only staying for one drink, my dears, I have work to do_.

Cassandra’s face lights up when she catches your eye, and Blackwall twists in his seat to raise a tankard in your direction.

Varric nods at you and grins. ‘Well, hey there, Inquisitor.’ He’s dealing cards out to Josephine, The Iron Bull, and Cullen.

‘Inquisitor,’ the latter says when he sees you. He smiles his close-lipped smile. It’s a little crooked, a little reserved, but it’s charming all the same. ‘I was rather hoping you’d come and join us.’

Like both you and Dorian, dark circles ring Cullen’s eyes. You suppose it took a little cajoling to get him out of his office too. _Ten sovereigns Leliana threatened him at knife-point,_ you think.

‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ you reply. And you mean it.

The rest of you elect not to play Wicked Grace while Josephine’s in the game. Instead, you rest your knee against Dorian’s and content yourself with listening to Sera proposing a new set of pranks. Eventually, drinks are ordered and you figure that one couldn’t hurt.

-

One drink turns into two. Two turns into three. When Blackwall offers to shout you a fourth, you decline. You can already feel your ears buzzing with warmth. Everything is more or less the same, but you’re sure you’re saying more than usual, laughing louder and gesturing a bit more wildly. You take another drink and you know that you’ll be out like a light in no time. You really don’t want to pass out while Sera’s in the room.

Cullen loses twice to Josephine before quitting. He knows when he’s beat now, and you think he’d really like to keep his clothes on this time.

‘That’s disappointing,’ Dorian says mildly. He raises his brows and grins roguishly, bottle resting against his bottom lip. You nudge him in the ribs, hard, but you can’t help yourself. You grin too, head a little light.

Cullen breathes out a laugh. Rubs at the back of his neck and averts his eyes. There’s a red tinge in his ears and in his cheeks, maybe. You could be wrong. You might just be imagining things. Cullen changes the subject before Dorian can. He squints at you. Frowns.

‘Inquisitor…’ Cullen starts. Stops. He considers his words carefully. ‘You look like you…might need to get some rest.’

‘What? He looks fine.’ Dorian turns to you, grey eyes dancing. ‘You’re fine, aren’t you, amatus?’

‘Sure.’ The word doesn’t come out slurred so you probably are. Maybe. ‘I guess. I don’t know, I’m a little tired.’ But then again, you’re always a little tired. And Cullen’s eye-bags are just as bad as yours. You don’t point that out though.

‘Then off to bed with you,’ Cullen insists. He turns to Dorian and gestures to him with a large hand. ‘Can you take him back to his quarters? I’m not so sure I trust him trying to walk up the stairs in his state.’

‘Jus’ let ‘im sleep here,’ Sera snickers.

‘He doesn’t trust you,’ Cole says on your behalf and ducks under the table when Sera clambers over it to get to him. Leliana is the one to pull her off.

‘I’ll be okay. Dorian doesn’t have to walk me back.’ You stand to your feet, your chair scrapping against the wooden floors.

You’re not so unsteady that you can’t walk, but your sway is noticeable. Dorian is by your elbow in an instant, his arm slipping around your waist to keep you up. His warmth and the smell of his skin (like the bitterness of alcohol, the smoke from the fireplace sticking to his clothes, and that something you have no name for other than _Dorian_ ) are the only things that keep you from protesting his help. You lean into him.

‘He’s going to walk you back.’ The commander’s tone is firm now. You try to frown, but you end up pouting instead. Cullen’s brows rise and he crosses his arms over his chest. ‘And you’re going to drink some water and get some sleep.’

‘But –’

‘No _buts_.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Dorian mutters.

You sigh, shoulders slumping dejectedly. 'Yes, father.'

The word is out of your mouth before you realise you’ve spoken it.

A hush falls over the table: Varric drops his cards, his hand revealed to the last few folks playing but no one looks. Cassandra chokes on her drink, thumps a hard fist against her chest. Vivienne raises a hand to her chest and makes a face you’re not sure how to interpret.

Cullen Rutherford is devastated. You can tell in a glance, and it takes you a good three seconds to realise why.

_Sweet Andraste._

You groan loudly, burying your face in your hands. You did it – you messed up. This would be the best time for a rift to open up and drag you into the Fade. You almost try to hide behind Dorian but he’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes. That traitor. The Iron Bull roars with laughter, the table shaking when he slams his fist on the surface and tries to make a coherent sentence.

‘Oh, Maker –’

‘Did you just call him _father_?’

‘He did! He called him father, I friggin’ heard ‘im!’

‘But the commander isn’t his father?’

‘Boss –’

 ‘I’m not even that much older than you!’ Cullen says. He’s trying to sound offended but he looks like a kicked puppy. You feel awful.

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ You don’t know what to do with your hands so you just grip the sides of your face again and groan.  ‘I don’t even – I don’t even know why I said that.’

Dorian wheezes, wrapping his arms around you once again, tightening his grip when you try to squirm away. ‘Amatus, you should…you should see your face.’ He turns to Cullen gleefully. ‘You should see _your_ face.’

‘Inquisitor, do you see our commander as a father-figure?’ Cassandra’s voice is serious but it cracks in the middle of the question. Varric leans forward, hands clasped in front of him. ‘Do you need to talk about it, your inquisitoralness?’

‘No, no, no. Absolutely not. This isn’t anything. Please just forget this ever happened.’

‘Yeah, not goin’ to happen.’ Sera cackles. ‘This is better than that time we moved all of Cullen’s stuff an inch to the right so he kept tripping over everything.’

‘You did what?!’

‘I’m feeling woozy,’ you say. This time, you swear off alcohol for good.


End file.
